


The Challenge of Loving Phil Coulson (Clint Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way)

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Barton is a great caretaker, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phil Coulson is a stubborn man, soup makes everything better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint should be mad, but he can't bring himself to be angry when Phil huddles against him like this, desperately trying to chase away the chill that has surely settled in his bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Challenge of Loving Phil Coulson (Clint Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SomebodyOwens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomebodyOwens/gifts).



> Thank you to Rurounihime for betaing! 
> 
> Originally posted on Tumblr.

“Hey, are you home yet?” Clint shoulders the door to the apartment open, carrying a bag of Chinese take-out. 

When he peeks around the corner into the living room, he sees Phil face down on the couch, one foot dangling over the edge. His clothes appear to be soaked. 

“Phil?” Clint sets down the bag. He shrugs out of his jacket and drops it to the floor as he crosses the room. He kneels down next to the couch. Phil's face is turned away from him. He seems to be asleep, or at least dozing. Clint leans over, brushing one hand through his hair. 

Phil grumbles, but doesn't wake entirely. He shivers.

Clint leans down far enough to let Phil feel some of his warmth. He keeps running his palm over Phil's hair and nape until his eyes blink open. “Hey, there you are. What happened?”

Phil turns onto his back. “Rain.” He curls further toward Clint.

“Yeah, I noticed. You're soaked. C'mon, sit up. You need to get out of these clothes.” He helps Phil, who slumps against him as soon as he's upright. Clint wraps his arms around him. Just for a moment, he tells himself. “Did you walk from the subway again?”

“'s just two blocks.” 

“Two long blocks. Should have taken a cab from HQ.”

Phil's still shivering. “Cab takes too long.” He sneezes.

“Okay, these clothes are going. No debate.”

He helps Phil stand and holds a hand out as he shuffles toward the bedroom. Not that Clint believes Phil would actually stumble, but better safe than sorry. Phil gets as far as loosening his tie when his hands shake too much to continue. 

Clint steps close. “Let me.” 

Phil's hands drop away. His breath puffs against Clint's cheek.

“I brought some soup.” Clint slips button after button out of their holes. “Egg drop. I'll make sure it's extra hot, okay?”

“'Kay,” Phil mumbles.

It takes way too long to maneuver Phil out of his sodden clothes and into pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. When Clint notices that Phil's feet are blocks of ice, he insists on wool socks even though Phil's going straight under the comforter. 

“I'll get the soup now.”

Phil's hand shoots out to grasp Clint's wrist. “Stay for a little while first?”

“As long as you need me to.” Clint sits down, back against the headboard, and Phil curls around him, face pressing against Clint's stomach. Clint cradles him close. He should be mad, but he can't bring himself to be angry when Phil huddles against him like this, desperately trying to chase away the chill that has surely settled in his bones.

“Mmm, warm.” Phil noses Clint's stomach and tries to burrow closer.

Clint slouches a little lower. He pets Phil's hair again—there's really no other word for it—until the shivers disappear and Phil's muscles start to relax. “How about that soup? You must be hungry.”

“Don' go,” Phil pleads but lets Clint slip from his grasp.

“I'll be back soon.” He can't resist pressing a quick nuzzle to Phil's cheek.

Clint pours soup into a mug. It'll be easier to eat that way. A minute in the microwave leaves the soup piping hot. He grabs a spoon and makes his way back into the bedroom. “Careful with that,” he instructs when he sets the mug onto the nightstand.

Phil sits up. “Smells good.” He gingerly picks up the mug and starts spooning soup into his mouth. “'s nice. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Clint shucks his jeans and sweatshirt. He climbs back into bed next to Phil, turning so Phil can lean against him. He wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. Phil still feels a little cold. 

Phil sighs. “God, you're like a furnace.”

Clint smiles and hooks his chin over Phil's shoulder. He rubs his hand back and forth across Phil's chest.“Not really. I merely chose not to walk through icy pouring rain.”

Phil pauses in his devouring of the soup. He lays his hand over Clint's, squeezing. “Sorry. That probably wasn't the wisest decision.”

“I know you prefer to take the subway.” Clint kisses the side of Phil's neck. There's nothing to forgive and nothing to argue about. “Can I get a sip?”

“Only if you want to catch the cold I'm most likely incubating right now.”

Clint takes the mug from Phil. “Well, I'll catch that anyway considering I don't plan on letting go of you tonight.” He drinks. The soup is hot all the way down his throat.

Phil ducks his head. “That so?”

Clint passes back the mug. “Definitely.”

Phil mumbles “how do I deserve you?” into his soup, but Clint catches it anyway. He leans his head against Phil's nape, swallowing the wave of feelings that makes his eyes burn. He asks himself that question nearly every day. He wants to respond, but can't find the right words. 

It's not that he is too emotionally stunted to tell Phil he loves him. He's gotten over that. Their lives are too precarious not to say those words, and often. Clint never wants Phil to doubt that he is loved. And Phil says it back, always, with a quiet reverence.

When Phil sets down the empty mug, Clint pulls him close and kisses him. It's just a soft brush of lips, a shared breath, but it's enough to express that Clint's grateful Phil is here with him at the end of a long day. Even when Phil walked home in freezing rain.

They lie back, tugging the down comforter over them. Their legs tangle, and Clint brings both of his arms around Phil, who finally feels warm again. Even his hair dried. There are small fluffed-up curls at his nape that feel soft against Clint's fingertips.

“It feels ridiculous to be in bed by eight, but I don't think I can get up,” Phil says. “I could fall asleep, even.”

“Then go to sleep.” Sleep sounds wonderful to Clint, especially with Phil in his arms. “The world probably needs saving by two a.m.”

“Hmm, good point.” Phil stretches to kiss Clint's jaw. “Night. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Clint's world narrows to warmth, and Phil, and home. 

(end.)


End file.
